Looking For A Reason
by GoofyGal2008
Summary: They thought he couldn't take care of himself, but the truth wasn't that he couldn't, it was that he simply didn't see a reason to anymore. Sometimes, all it takes is caring for someone else to make you care about yourself again. Fiesta, post-6x05
1. Looking For A Reason

**A/N: **I sort of love starting a new story - not that I'm abandoning or giving any less effort to my existing stories, of course, but there's something fun about finding another new creative path for the muse to follow. Right now, this is the path she's going down, fueled partly by my impatience about the complete lack of attention the writers are giving to the Stella/Adam hookup they threw at us. I think it's cruel and just plain not nice to make my jaw drop with something so out of left field and then not address it for weeks and weeks. So, I took things into my own hands. Granted, this may seem like a strange way of addressing the issue (and this is not a Stella/Adam story), but what can I say? I'm a Fiesta girl at heart!

In terms of timeline, this story picks up after 6.05 ("Battle Scars"). Everything prior to that is considered to have happened, everything after that will be taken on an episode-by-episode basis.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think of this new story!

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I own nothing. Nada. Zilch. Sorry, wish I did, but I don't!

* * *

Don Flack let out a deep breath of relief, ignoring the scream of protest from the heavy metal door as he shoved it open and stepped out onto the empty loading dock. Leaning his back against the door, he closed his eyes tightly, relishing the blissful silence and pressing his palms into his eyes, trying desperately to shut off the pain that was coursing through his head.

There were just too many sympathetic people in the homicide division, he'd decided. Even Mac thought that he wasn't able to take care of himself anymore; he'd said as much the other day. Truth be told, though, Flack knew that wasn't an accurate assessment. It wasn't that he _couldn't_ take care of himself these days, it was that he was no longer certain there was any point. Would shaving every day make it less painful? Would putting on a coat and tie like he used to suddenly make him miss her any less? Would doing any of the things he used to do make any difference to him?

He'd heard it over and over again in the past few months, the absurd platitudes from well-meaning friends and coworkers trying to console him, force him back into the man he'd been before her death. He'd heard it all in the three and half short months that had passed since he'd lost Jess – _take your time…give it time, Don…time heals all wounds…_and a thousand other variations on the same theme were offered up to him on an almost daily basis.

Time was a funny concept, though, Don thought. It was supposed to be making things easier, better even, according to what everyone else seemed to think. Every day that passed, it was supposed to be a bit less painful to get up and face the day without her. Every day between him and the day she'd been taken from him was supposed to make it more manageable, less painful, more normal.

Time wasn't working the way it was supposed to, it seemed. Every day, it got just a bit harder to swing his legs over the edge of his bed, took him just a bit longer to convince himself that it was worth getting up and facing the day. With each day that passed, he had more and more difficulty stepping out the front door and getting behind the wheel of his SUV, walking into the precinct and seeing the new guy settling into the desk two rows over. No, if time was supposed to heal all wounds, it seemed that it was not quite ready to get to work on the gaping wounds that pained him.

Since time wasn't going to help him, Flack found himself taking his escape anywhere he could find it – in the bottle of whiskey behind the bar at Sullivan's; in the nameless, almost faceless one night stands; and in these strange, stolen moments, tucked away behind One Police Plaza, just a few feet and yet a world away from the chaos inside the bullpen.

These were the moments that kept him sane – or at least close to it – during his shifts these days. These were the few moments he could enjoy when no one was looking at him, no one was expecting him to suddenly pull it together, to snap back to the man he'd been before his heart had been ripped away. There were no sympathetic stares, no surreptitious glances, no unrealistic expectations. Most of all, though, this was one of the few places he'd found that wasn't tinged with memories of _her_.

Rarely used outside the early morning receiving hours, Don doubted if most of the staff even knew it was accessible beyond those hours – he himself had only stumbled upon it accidentally a few weeks earlier. He was somewhat surprised that more people hadn't discovered the quiet escape of the back loading dock. He supposed the thick stench of diesel that hung in the air did its fair share to discourage those looking for a spot to take a quick smoke break, but for a break from the hubbub and madness of the day, for someplace that no one would think to look for him, he hadn't yet found a better hideaway.

Resting his head against the cold metal of the door, he took another breath and soaked up the city silence he'd grown accustomed to hearing around him on the loading dock. He felt himself stiffen slightly as a muffled sound reached his ears from across the concrete expanse. He'd been so certain that he was alone, so sure that no one else had discovered the magic escape the loading dock provided, but suddenly he wasn't so sure. Part of him was tempted to duck back inside building before he could be spotted and potentially recognized by whoever else was out here. The curious side of him, though, wasn't about to let a mystery go unsolved.

Keeping a hand tucked protectively over his holstered gun, he slowly made his way across the dock, the muffled sound giving way to the distinct echoes of a woman crying as he grew closer. Rounding the corner with just a hint of trepidation in his step, he let out a sigh of relief that quickly faded to a frown of concern at the sight before him.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, squatting down next to the woman sitting on the floor, her back up against the wall and her knees tucked under her chin, her body shaking with soft sobs. Reaching out, Flack tentatively laid a hand on her shoulder, smiling reassuringly as she started slightly at the unexpected contact and glanced up at him in surprise.

"Hey," he said gently. "You alright, Stel?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, quickly reaching up to wipe the tears that now stained her cheeks. "Yeah, I'm fine, Don. I didn't know anyone else came out here."

"I was thinkin' the same thing myself," Flack said.

"Are you alright?" Stella asked.

"Gee, I must really like crap, huh?" Flack asked, earning a skeptical stare from Stella. "Well, here you are, hidin' behind the building in tears, and you're asking if _I'm_ alright. I should be the one asking you that question."

"I'm fine, Don," Stella insisted. "I just needed some fresh air, that's all."

"Sure you did," Flack said sarcastically. "'Cause we all know there's nothin' fresher than that smell of diesel in the air back here. C'mon, Stel, even for New York the air's pretty bad back here."

"It's an expression, Don," Stella said in annoyance, carefully pushing herself up off the ground and back to a standing position, Flack quickly following suite. "I just needed to get away for a few minutes and think, that's all."

"Something you want to talk about?" Flack asked. "I'm a real good listener, you know."

"I'm fine," Stella insisted again. "What are you doing back here, anyway? Aren't you on a case?"

"It's quiet back here," Flack shrugged. "Helps me think better when no one's lookin' at me like they're wondering when I'm gonna up and break."

"Oh, Don," Stella sighed sympathetically.

"Hey now, don't you go feelin' sorry for me too," Flack said quickly. "I just needed to think. I'm not the one crying in the loading dock, remember?"

"I wasn't crying," Stella said defensively.

"Hey, I'm not gonna tell anybody," Flack said. "But I know crying when I see and hear it, and that was definitely crying, Stella."

"So what if it was?" Stella asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced him. "What's it to you?"

"I just want to make sure you're okay, that's all," Flack said, raising his hands defensively. "You don't cry, Stel, so it's gotta be something big. I've seen you in some bad situations, but I've never seen you cry, not like that."

"You've never seen me alone," Stella said softly.

"Right," Flack nodded in understanding. "So are you gonna tell me what's goin' on here?"

"I already did," Stella said, reaching down to grab her jacket off the ground. "I needed a little space to think, and now I'm going back to work – something you should probably do too."

Flack shook his head as he watched Stella walk away, struggling slightly with the heavy door before heaving it open and hurrying away from him into the stairwell without looking back. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he let out a sigh of frustration as he glanced down at the ground, frowning when he spotted a small white business card where Stella's jacket had been. Figuring it must have fallen out of her pocket when she'd grabbed the jacket, he bent down to pick it up and return it to her later.

Holding it up to the light, Flack took a sharp breath in surprise when he read the words printed neatly on the front of the card.

"What the hell's goin' on with you, Bonasera?" he muttered to himself, staring at the door she'd walked through just a few moments earlier, the questions and possibilities swirling in his head.


	2. Doing It Alone

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who signed up for story alerts, and especially to those of you who left a review! I hope you enjoy this chapter - the only warning I will issue is to just remember that things aren't always what they seem!

Please review and let me know what you think!

* * *

Early the next morning, Flack stepped out of an elevator and made his way down an unfamiliar hallway, carefully checking the numbers on the doors until he found the one he was looking for. Raising his hand to knock on the door, he was surprised to find it open just as his had made contact with the wood.

"Flack? What the hell are you doing here?" Stella asked, stepping out into the hall and shutting the door behind her. "And at this hour?"

"Came to see you," Flack said, pausing to take in her appearance as she shook her head and turned back to lock the door. Her clothes were a bit baggier than usual, but then, it was her day off. Who was he to know whether or not she preferred something a bit more comfortable and less stylish in her time off the clock? Her hair was slightly unkempt, but again, who was he to know what her off the clock style normally was? No, it was the bags under her eyes that truly concerned him, seemingly screaming to the world that she hadn't slept a wink the night before.

"I don't have time to chat," Stella said, tossing her keys into her purse and taking a step to move around him.

"Yeah, that cross-town traffic's a real bitch this time of morning," Flack said, watching as Stella froze in her tracks at his words, slowly turning back to face him again.

"How did you know I was going across town?" she asked suspiciously.

Flack shrugged sheepishly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the business card he'd found the day before, holding it up between his fingers.

"Where did you get that?" Stella asked, reaching out to grab the card, scowling in frustration when Flack moved it just out of her reach. "Have you been going through my things?"

"Hey now, let's cool it with the accusations, alright?" Flack protested. "It fell out of your jacket down at the loading dock yesterday afternoon, so I picked it up to give it back to you."

"Right," Stella nodded. "So give it back already."

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" Flack asked.

"Not if I can avoid it," Stella said.

"Then no," Flack said.

"Fine, keep it," Stella shrugged. "I don't really care, I don't need it anymore."

"You don't need your doctor's phone number?" Flack asked skeptically.

"That's an appointment card, Flack, not a business card," Stella said. "Besides, she's in the phone book, it wouldn't be that hard to find her."

"You know, you could just trust me and tell me why you're going to the doctor," Flack pointed out as Stella turned her back on him and angrily punched the button to call the elevator.

"This has nothing to do with trust," Stella said. "Why are you even here, Flack?"

"Can't a guy be concerned for a friend?" Flack asked.

"Yes, but that doesn't explain why you're _here_," Stella said. "In my apartment building at seven o'clock in the morning on your day off."

"I just wanted to make sure you were gonna be alright," Flack shrugged nonchalantly, following Stella into the elevator car. "You seemed real upset yesterday, and it don't take a detective to put two and two together, Stel – something's going on, and I'm betting it's got something to do with that appointment you've got this morning."

"This is ridiculous," Stella said in annoyance. "It's just a check-up, that's all – your standard, run of the mill physical. Nothing to get all excited about, and certainly not something I need a chaperone for."

"You're a crappy liar, you know that?" Flack asked. "Or did you just forget that I make my living knowing when people are lying to me?"

"I'm not…" Stella began to protest.

"I guess you could call it a 'perk' of workin' for the NYPD," Flack said. "Every year, we all get an all-expenses-paid complete workup from a friendly department-approved doc. Detectives go first, in January, remember? So try again, 'cause this isn't just a check-up you're getting. Besides, you wouldn't be crying in the loading dock about a check-up."

"I was _not_ crying," Stella insisted.

"Yeah, and this job's gonna make me a millionaire by the time I'm forty," Flack said sarcastically.

"Did you just wake up this morning and think to yourself, _gee, I think I'll see if I can make myself the most annoying person in the city today_?" Stella asked, pushing past him as the elevator doors chimed open.

"Oh, come on, Stel, don't be like that," Flack said, quickly catching up to her just before she reached the door and grabbing her arm to stop her. "I'm just tryin' to help."

"You want to help?" Stella asked. "Then leave me alone, Flack, that's how you can help me. I'm a grown woman. I can deal with my own mistakes. I don't need you or anyone else."

"'Cause yesterday really looked like you handling it well," Flack said sarcastically. "C'mon Stel, you have to talk to someone."

"And who says I haven't?" Stella asked. "Just because I won't talk to you, that doesn't mean I don't talk to anyone."

"Have you?" Flack asked.

"That's none of your business," Stella said again. "None of this is any of your business."

"You haven't talked to anyone," Flack said knowingly.

"I'm not ready," Stella said. "You ought to know a thing or two about that."

"That's different," Flack said defensively.

"No, it isn't," Stella insisted, wriggling just a bit in a vain attempt to get Flack to release his grip on her arm. "You're burying your head in the sand, refusing to see that you're throwing your life down the drain, and you think _I'm_ the one who needs to be forced to have a friend?"

"I am not…" Flack began.

"You want to know the real reason I'm going to the doctor?" Stella asked suddenly.

"Would we be having this conversation if I didn't?" Flack asked in frustration.

"Fine," Stella practically spat. "I'm pregnant."

If she'd been a casual observer, Stella might have been able to laugh at the almost comical expression of shock that appeared on Flack's face as the words left her mouth. Instead, she was fighting back tears, yanking her arm away as his grip dissolved and he tried in vain to form a single coherent word in response. Sensing her only opportunity for escape, Stella quickly turned and hurried out the front door of her apartment, leaving Flack staring after her with his mouth half open in surprise.

Finally coming to his senses a few moments later, Flack rushed out the door after her, only to spot her climbing onto the bus at the end of the block.

_Pregnant?_ Flack thought to himself as he stood helplessly on the curb and watched the bus drive away with Stella on it. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was more to the situation than just the fact that Stella was going to have a baby. As far as he knew, Stella wasn't even seeing anyone – but then again, even he had to admit that he'd been more than a little distant with his friends the past few months.

Still, he was a detective, and that feeling in his gut – that intuition that only rarely failed him – told him that there was definitely more to what was bothering her. And, protests or not, he was determined to find out exactly what that was.


	3. Details, Please

"Alright Sara, just give it to be straight," Stella said a few hours later, having returned to her doctor's office a few hours later to receive the results of her blood work.

"Sit down, Stella," Sara Patterson instructed, standing up and moving around to the front of her desk to take a seat in the chair next to Stella, leaning forward slightly and resting her forearms just above her knees.

"Something's wrong," Stella said knowingly.

"What makes you say that?" Sara asked.

"How long have we known each other?" Stella asked. "Fifteen, sixteen years?"

"Twenty," Sara corrected.

"It has not been twenty years since we started college," Stella said.

"It has, actually," Sara said. "It's crazy, I know – it seems like just yesterday I was meeting my freshman roommate, being stared at like I was an alien or something…"

"Okay, I'm a city girl, I always have been," Stella said. "And you showed up in a tie-dyed peasant blouse, denim mini skirt and worn out cowboy boots, Sara. How was I supposed to react?"

"Hey, it was a very specific look," Sara said defensively.

"Oh, I know," Stella said with a smirk. "I just never could figure out which look you were going for – 1970's wild child or the Beverley Hillbillies."

"Ouch," Sara laughed. "I suppose my style has evolved just a bit in the last two decades."

"Fortunately," Stella said. "Otherwise, just think how much more embarrassed your children would be to go out in public with you."

"Don't even start me," Sara said with a groan. "I swear, Marina's barely ten and thinks she should be my own personal stylist. I think she takes far too much after her godmother."

"Hey, she's your child, don't blame me," Stella said. "At least you're still a relatively young mother, Sara. Just think about it, I'll be sixty by the time this baby graduates from college. How horrifying is that?"

"About that, Stella," Sara said gently.

"This is about my age, isn't it?" Stella asked. "I mean, I'm thirty-eight, I know there are risks, Sara, but women have babies well into their forties these days, right? And I'm healthy, I always have been, and you know I'll be extremely careful while I'm pregnant."

"Stella…" Sara began.

"And I know this wasn't planned," Stella continued, rambling just a bit out of nervousness. "I mean, you've known me long enough to know that I'm not the type who goes out and has a one night stand. It's just not me. And God only knows how awkward things are going to be at work when it gets out that I did, and with a coworker at that. I don't know, maybe having a baby right now is a bad idea…"

"Stella," Sara interrupted, a hint of force in her voice to draw Stella's attention.

"Right, sorry," Stella muttered. "Go on."

"Stella, you're not pregnant," Sara said. "Your blood test was negative."

"I…oh," Stella said quietly, nodding somewhat numbly and leaning back in her chair.

"Are you okay?" Sara asked gently, leaning forward and placing her hand on top of Stella's. "You know it's alright to be upset, Stella."

"No, no, I'm fine," Stella assured her. "I…this was bad timing, anyway, we talked about that. No, this is for the best. This wasn't a situation to drag a baby into. It's…I guess it's better this way."

"Maybe so," Sara said. "But I know you, Stella, and I know you wouldn't have come to see me until you'd taken plenty of time to get used to the idea of a baby. How long ago did you take the test?"

"Three weeks," Stella admitted. "I don't get it - I took two, Sara, just to be sure. They were both positive."

"I wish I had an explanation for you, Stella," Sara said.

"Could I have been pregnant?" Stella asked. "I mean, maybe I was pregnant then but I miscarried?"

"There would still be trace amounts of hCG in your blood counts," Sara said. "Your level was zero."

"So what happened?" Stella asked. "I can understand one test, but two?"

"Home tests work by measuring hCG in your urine," Sara said.

"I know how they work, Sara, what I don't get it how two of them were wrong," Stella said.

"Home tests are getting better and better every year, but most of them still have as much as a 2-3% error rate," Sara said. "They're also difficult to read in some cases. It's possible they sat too long and developed a false positive, or there's just plain old operator error."

"I followed the instructions exactly," Stella insisted. "I can interpret complex DNA sequences, track burn patterns and disable explosives, Sara, I'm pretty damn sure I can read a pregnancy test, too."

"Well, it's very rare for something other than a pregnancy to trigger the secretion of hCG into your system," Sara said. "But it does happen occasionally. The home tests are sensitive enough that if there was a small to moderate amount in your system then, it could have triggered a positive test but been out of your system by the time we did the blood test this morning."

"And that wouldn't happen with a miscarriage?" Stella asked.

"No," Sara shook her head. "You were positive on the possible date of conception, and working forward from that date, if you'd been pregnant when you took the test, your hCG levels would have been high enough that they wouldn't have completely cleared from your system even if you'd miscarried the very next day."

"What if I had miscarried before the test?" Stella asked.

"I suppose it's a possibility," Sara conceded. "But it's not likely. Given when you would have had to have miscarried to be early enough that you wouldn't have noticed it happening, then counting forward to the date of the test, your hCG levels would not have been likely to be high enough to trigger a positive reading."

"So what did cause it?" Stella asked.

"I wish I could give you a definitive answer," Sara said. "But it would be nothing more than speculation on at least a half dozen legitimate possibilities."

"So I'm supposed to chalk it up to being 'just one of those things'?" Stella asked in frustration. "What about all my other symptoms? The fatigue, the nausea, the bloating – I have all of it, Sara. How do you explain that?"

"You have been under more than a little stress lately," Sara pointed out.

"I stressed myself into pregnancy symptoms?" Stella asked skeptically.

"Well, pregnancy does tend to have many of the same symptoms as stress," Sara said. "Changes in appetite, weight gain, fatigue, even the changes in your menstrual cycle."

"So what now?" Stella asked.

"Medically, there's nothing to be done," Sara said. "Obviously, all the standard recommendations apply – make sure you're getting enough rest, eating properly, stop working so hard, all of that. Give it a few weeks, maybe a month, and if you're still not feeling better, come back to the office and we'll run some tests."

"And non-medically?" Stella asked.

"Now you spill," Sara said with a smirk. "A one night stand, darling? With a coworker?"

"We are not having this conversation," Stella said with a quick shake of her head.

"Oh, we so are," Sara insisted. "Stella, sweetheart, I am your oldest and dearest friend. I've been married to the same man for fifteen years and I've got four children. The last time I did anything spontaneous, I bought new curtains for the living room. I can't remember the last time I felt sexy. The least you can do for me is let me live vicariously through your exploits."

"Fine," Stella grumbled. "But you don't get to call them 'exploits'. That makes them sound so…so, I don't know, _dirty_."

"Was it Mac?" Sara asked eagerly.

"What?" Stella asked in surprise.

"That is your boss, right? The cute military one?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, that's him," Stella said. "But no, it was definitely _not_ Mac. I don't think you know this coworker, Sara. He works in the lab."

"Well, tell me about him," Sara said. "Is he hot? Is there a future for you two?"

"He is attractive," Stella admitted. "In a weird, sort of geeky way, I guess. But no, there is absolutely no chance of a future for us, because there is no 'us', Sara. It was just one night, we were both a little drunk, we were lonely…but it can't happen again."

"Why ever not?" Sara asked.

"We're far too different," Stella said. "It's probably a good thing that I'm not pregnant – I don't even know how I would tell him, or what he would do."

"You don't think he would have left you to do this alone?" Sara asked in surprise.

"No, no, of course not, Adam's too good a guy to do that," Stella said. "But he's not ready, I know he's no where near mature enough to be ready for parenthood. Hell, I'm pushing forty and I'm not sure I'm ready."

"Wait, isn't he our age?" Sara asked.

"Not exactly," Stella said hesitantly.

"Well, how much younger are we talking here?" Sara asked. "A couple of years? I mean, he's what, thirty-three, thirty-four?"

Stella smiled a little guiltily and bit her lower lip as she glanced at Sara out of the corner of her eye.

"Twenty-seven," she admitted quietly.

"Oh. My. God," Sara practically squealed. "Twenty-seven? Twenty-seven years old? You had sex with a twenty-seven year old?"

"What's the big deal?" Stella asked.

"The big deal is that my best friend is a cougar and no one told me!" Sara exclaimed. "Oh my God, Stella, I didn't know you had it in you."

"I am not…" Stella began.

"Oh, just admit it, you are," Sara interrupted knowingly. "Okay, so tell me everything. How was it? I mean, was he still in that awkward phase guys go through, or was he at his peak? Was it completely weird?"

"Awkward is definitely not the word I'd use for it," Stella said.

"And what is?" Sara asked eagerly. "Good? Fabulous? Wonderful?"

"Well, it wasn't quite the best I'd ever had," Stella said coyly.

"Well yeah, that's because you dated a freaking NFL quarterback when you were twenty-five," Sara said. "Once you've been with a guy who's that athletic, it's pretty hard for anyone else to keep up. So, where would you put him on the list?"

"I do not have a list," Stella said indignantly. "That would be you, my dear."

"Yeah right," Sara scoffed. "You and I both know that my list would have two guys on it, and obviously my husband would be first. Just humor me here, assuming you had a list, where would you put him?"

"Well, if quarterback Steve is number one, then I think I'd definitely have to put Adam at number two," Stella admitted with a little laugh at Sara's reaction. "You'd never know it from just meeting him, of course. He's a little geeky, a bit awkward and nervous all the time. But turn the lights down and, well, he definitely knows what he's doing."

"That high?" Sara asked in surprise. "Okay, honey, now I definitely need details."


	4. Did You?

He'd been watching her. Stella had felt his eyes on her the moment she'd ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and entered the bloody downtown apartment early the next morning. He'd been subtle about it, certainly – a sideways glance here, a quick look over the shoulder there. Never anything too obvious, he was too good for that. She had to hand it to him, he had quite the knack for subtlety, and she was quite certain that not one of the highly trained investigators working with them had noticed his curious stares.

She'd tried to find a time to talk to him alone, away from the prying eyes of gossipy lab techs and rookie officers. Unfortunately for her plans, their case hadn't been complicated, but it had been time-consuming, at least on the forensic side. She'd barely had a moment out of the lab all morning, and those few that she had seemed to perfectly coincide with the few that he wasn't hanging around. By the time she'd left at nearly four o'clock, Don Flack had been long gone.

So here she was, standing in a dark hallway outside his apartment door, balancing a large pizza in one hand and a six-pack in the other, feeling nervous in a way she couldn't quite understand. Taking a deep breath as she heard the deadbolt turn, she offered a small smile as he pulled the door open.

"Stella?" Flack asked in confusion, staring at her standing in front of him. "You here to yell at me again?"

"Peace offering, actually," Stella said, holding up the pizza and beer. "I heard you tell Danny you weren't planning on watching the game with the guys tonight, so I figured maybe you could use some company."

"You don't even like the Yankees," Flack pointed out skeptically.

"I'm a New Yorker," Stella shrugged. "Once a year I get to pretend to care about a bunch of guys in ill-fitting uniforms running around in a circle."

"You don't sound much like a fan," Flack said. "You at least got good beer? None of that Coors Lite crap?"

"Beck's," Stella said, holding up the six pack.

Flack sighed and nodded, pulling open the door and stepping back so that she could enter the apartment.

"'Scuse the mess," he muttered as she walked in.

Stella frowned as she looked around and took in the state of his small studio apartment. She'd been to his apartment only once before, and only briefly then, but she'd been impressed with how clean it had been. Everything had seemed to have a place and be in it, and she'd gotten the distinct impression that he was one of the few men who actually owned and knew how to work a vacuum cleaner.

Now, however, it was as though she had stepped into a completely different apartment. Empty pizza boxes and Chinese food containers sat on the table, laundry was piled haphazardly on a chair and she was fairly certain the carpet hadn't seen a vacuum cleaner in months. In fact, it looked like very little in the apartment had been used in the past few months.

Shaking her head, Stella used the pizza box to clear a space on the small dining table and set down the pizza and beer.

"You don't even have the game on," Stella commented, looking across the room at the blank television.

"Didn't feel much like watching," Flack shrugged, pulling open the pizza box and grabbing a slice. "You gonna eat?"

"I think I'll pass for now," Stella said, grimacing slightly and placing a hand on her stomach. "I haven't exactly been hungry lately."

"Right," Flack nodded. "Morning sickness ain't just for mornings, right?"

"Not exactly," Stella said, pulling a bottle out of the six pack.

"Wait, you can't drink that, it's not good for the baby," Flack said in confusion, watching in surprise as she grabbed the bottle opener off the counter, flicked the cap off the bottle and took a swig.

"Relax," Stella said, walking over to the couch and taking a seat, her back to him as she shook her head and took another drink. "I'm not pregnant. There isn't going to be any baby."

"But I thought…" Flack began. "You said you were pregnant."

"I thought I was," Stella said quietly. "I took two tests."

"What happened?" Flack asked, grabbing his own beer and taking a seat next to Stella, deliberately leaving a space between them.

"I'm not pregnant," Stella shrugged.

"Yeah, you said that," Flack said. "I don't get it, I thought those things were pretty damn good."

"There's a possibility I might have been pregnant but had a miscarriage around the time I took the test," Stella said. "Or it could have just been a fluke, two bad tests."

"But you're sick," Flack said.

"My doctor says it's probably stress," Stella said. "I've just got stop working so much, sleep a little more, eat a few more vegetables…I'll be good as new in no time."

"Are you alright?" Flack asked.

"I just told you, it's just stress," Stella said.

"No, not that," Flack said. "With the whole not-being-pregnant thing. Are you okay?"

"Oh, that," Stella nodded. "Yeah, no, it's fine. I'm fine. I…this would have been a really bad situation for a child. I don't know, I don't think I could have done it. It would have been so complicated, so messy…"

"Complicated doesn't always mean bad," Flack said, watching as Stella took a deep breath and shook her head. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm…I don't really know," Stella admitted, biting her lower lip as her eyes filled with tears.

"Hey," Flack said softly, scooting over and closing the gap between them, carefully wrapping his arm around her shoulder as she leaned against him and began to cry. "Shhh…hey…I'm here, I'm here…"

Sighing, Flack leaned back against the couch, rubbing small circles on her back, holding her quietly until the tears finally subsided.

* * *

An hour later, Flack and Stella sat quietly on the couch, a second beer in each their hands, the World Series game finally playing on the television in front of them.

"Alright, I don't mean to pry," Flack said hesitantly as the game moved into the seventh inning stretch.

"Then don't," Stella said.

"But you got my best shirt all wet and then tried to play it off like nothing happened," Flack said. "I think that earns me a question or two."

"About what?" Stella asked, knowing exactly what was coming.

"About what?" Flack repeated in disbelief. "About the whole you being pregnant thing."

"I'm not pregnant," Stella said.

"No, but that's not the point," Flack said. "The possibility itself raises certain questions."

"Such as?" Stella asked.

"Well, I didn't even know you were seeing someone," Flack said.

"I'm not," Stella said. "I haven't been on a date in at least a year."

"Okay," Flack nodded. "Look, I get that you're the scientist and all that jazz, but I'm pretty damn sure I know enough to know that there had to be guy for there to have even been a possibility of a baby."

"Yeah, it takes a real genius to figure that one at," Stella scoffed.

"Hey now, the sarcasm is so uncalled for here," Flack teased. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"I don't ask you about your one night stands," Stella pointed out.

"Yeah, but none of my…" Flack began before pausing as what she had said actually hit him. "Wait, you had a one night stand?"

"You don't get to judge me," Stella warned.

"Not judging," Flack said defensively. "We all deal with our pain in our own way. We do what we have to do to get by."

"Exactly," Stella nodded.

"So what makes it so complicated for you?" Flack asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Stella said.

"C'mon, try me," Flack insisted. "It's not like you slept with a coworker or something."

"Yeah," Stella muttered unconvincingly.

"Oh, crap," Flack winced. "You did, didn't you?"

"There's a reason the department discourages workplace relationships," Stella said. "They make things complicated. There's no way they end well. Never."

"I know," Flack said, turning his head away.

"Shit," Stella sighed. "Don, you know I didn't mean that, not that way…I just meant for me. You and Jess, you were different. You guys…you were more like, I don't know, Danny and Lindsay."

"You think so?" Flack asked.

"What you guys had, it was real, any idiot could see that," Stella said. "I'll even admit to being a little jealous that you two found each other."

"Why?" Flack asked in confusion.

"Because you made her happy," Stella said. "It's been a long time since I had someone in my life in that way. She loved you, Don, you know that, right?"

"I tell myself that," Flack said. "I know I loved her – still love her. We didn't really say it much, though. Sometimes I wonder if she really felt the same way."

"Don't," Stella insisted, moving closer to him and placing her hand on his arm. "Jessica Angell loved you, don't doubt that for one minute."

"It was real, wasn't it?" Flack said with a sad smile. "We got lucky. Who's to say you and this mystery coworker won't have the same luck?"

"I really doubt you'd be asking that question if you knew who I was talking about," Stella said.

"But you won't tell me, so I've gotta guess," Flack said. "I'd say Mac, but I don't think you woulda been cryin' in the loading dock, afraid to tell him about a baby."

"I don't get it," Stella said. "Why do people assume that there has to be something between Mac and I?"

"Isn't there?" Flack asked skeptically.

"Not in that way," Stella said. "I love Mac like I'd love a brother if I had one. He's my best friend, but we agreed a long time ago that our relationship could never go in that direction."

"So if not Mac, who?" Flack asked.

"You really don't want to know," Stella insisted.

"C'mon, it can't be that bad," Flack said. "It ain't like you did something really stupid and slept with Adam or someone like that."

Flack paused, watching with curiosity as a look of fear and maybe a little shame passed quickly over Stella's face and she cast her eyes downward, carefully avoiding meeting his gaze.

"Good God," Flack muttered in shock as the realization hit him. "Stella...you did, didn't you?"


End file.
